by Jordan Ervin
“Manny!” Victor shouted. “Are you okay?”
He tried to reach for his brother, but his hand tugged at something sharp to his right. He looked over as he shook and saw that a chain that had been wrapped around his bloody wrist. He tugged again, confused as to where he was, and quickly looked around. A glass mirror filled one entire wall and a low hanging light swung from the center of the small concrete room.
Not a room, Victor thought. A cell. Why? After all this time…why? As if to answer his silent question, a dark and ominous voice spoke from behind him.
“The first time I heard about you,” the voice whispered as it circled Victor, ducking underneath his outstretched arm, “you had just been subdued by my drones. A part of me wants to say that I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but I believe I can, being that I am one of those who created the hell you’ve come to know.”
Victor’s eyes widened at the sight of an older man. Despite the heat, the older man wore a black button up shirt, light jeans, and a white scarf while six small drones circled above him, a glowing light on each. A Latino woman dressed in tight black pants and a loose gray shirt stood next to the older man, staring back at Victor emotionlessly. The older man looked over to the girl and nodded. She nodded back and drew a small silver cylinder that had been sheathed at her waist almost as though it were a knife.
“Who…are you?” Victor asked, stumbling over his words.
The man paused as he smiled back, a devilish grin that made Victor shiver.
“First,” the older man began, “tell me how long you think you’ve been under.”
“What?” Victor asked, confused.
“How long did you soak in the fire?”
“I don’t know,” Victor said as he swallowed a lump in his throat. “Years. Maybe decades.”
The older man paused again, his face unreadable for a moment, before a slight chuckle rose from his throat. That chuckle became a cackle of laughter that filled the tiny room with thunder as deep as a midnight burial.
“It simply never gets old,” the older man said as he wiped a tear away from his eye. “My name is Sigmund Dietrich. I am the leader of the Patriarchs and the man who submersed you in your pain. You are in New Orleans where you killed three of my soldiers before being subdued. Though we have used this particular drug before, we have also altered its effects on the perception of time and you two were the first test subjects. My men have examined you both and said the perceived time deceleration has increased as time itself has passed us by. Needless to say, years to you have not been years to us. So, would you care to guess again?”
“I don’t know,” Victor said, glancing over at his brother. Manny cried as he dangled helplessly, staring back at Victor with painful eyes. “It was endless.”
Sigmund moved in close, raising his wrist and clicking the side of a watch before gazing into Victor’s eyes as he all but spewed his next words.
“One hour and nine minutes.”
“No,” Victor said as the tears began to form. “You’re lying.”
“Men like me do not waste lies on chained captives.”
Victor shrieked from the depths of his soul. He took a deep breath and screamed louder, his cry intermixing with Manny’s howl and filling the tiny room with the melodies of a primeval anguish. Sigmund ordered Victor and his brother to quiet themselves, but Victor ignored the man. He could feel blood vessels on the verge of bursting as he screamed—not just louder, but harder. He thought that he might be able to burst every vein in his body and bleed himself out from the inside if he shrieked loudly enough. Sigmund nodded to the woman and she approached Victor, grabbing him by his hair and pulling him up to meet the older man’s gaze.
“Don’t make us use this,” Sigmund said as the woman held up a small silver cylinder in one hand. “One click of the button and you are back in a sea of pain.”
“No!” Victor shouted with an audible click of his teeth as his brother did the same. He fought the sobs that racked his body, trying to calm himself.
“I know how unpleasant that hell is you just departed from,” Sigmund said. “I know you want an escape and therefore I am here to make you a deal.” Sigmund turned to the glass window on one end of the wall. “Mahiri, if you would be so kind as to come in here with the keys and…something blunt and heavy that you can hold in one hand. Like a rock.”
A few moments passed with Sigmund standing there, surveying both Victor and his brother with a sickening grin. Victor looked from Sigmund to his brother, who was crying softly.
“It’s okay, Manny,” Victor said. “It’ll be alright.”
“Oh, I can promise you that it will not be alright,” Sigmund said as the door opened behind him. “Silvia, would you please undo their chains?”
The Latino woman next to Sigmund approached and unfastened Victor’s wrists, causing him to slump to the floor as he fought back his tears. The woman paused to frown at Victor before walking over to Manny, releasing him as well.
“Now,” Sigmund began. “We are going to do a little experiment. I have an empire to grow, but not enough men to grow it. Victor, I hear you were military before. Special Forces, if I’m not mistaken.”
Victor narrowed his eyes before nodding his head.
“And your brother, was he military?”
“No,” Victor said. “He’s only sixteen.”
“Really?” Sigmund said, grinning as he glanced over to Mahiri. “Though I would love to use both of you, as fierce as I had heard you were slaying my soldiers, I need a demonstration of your loyalty to prove my idea worthy to my friend here. You see, you took three men from me but I will be fine taking only one man as recompense. Mahiri, the blunt object if you would.”
Mahiri paused—his face contorted with an inquisitive grin—before tossing a guard’s baton to the ground. Sigmund chortled as the woman next to him raised the silver cylinder.
“Victor, kill your brother,” Sigmund said. “Or Manny, kill Victor. I care not who lives and who dies, so long as one breathes at the end and the other does not.”
“What?” Victor said, “I’m not going to—”
Victor began to fall to the ground, trying to halt his scream as soon as he recognized what was happening, but it was already too late. The wind slowly moved up his airwaves, pushing against his throat and cutting his oxygen off in a drawn out manner before traveling through his open mouth. The bass of his wail reverberated in his mind, ringing like an earthquake. Molten rock spewed from his eyes as liquid nitrogen filled his lungs. He fell back into the pure agony, writhing around slowly for what felt like ten minutes before lurching back to reality.
His head hit the floor as his scream finally left his lungs.
“Two seconds!” Sigmund bellowed. “Now I said kill him!”
“Manny! Don’t—”
Another wave of tortured passed; even the tears that filled Victor’s eyes felt aflame. He fell back toward the cold floor, crying out for Sigmund to stop.
“Please! Just let me—”
Another shift, another moment of unhindered pain.
“Just stop!”
Shift.
“I can’t—”
Shift.
“I’m sorry!”
With a roar, Victor lunged for the baton, surprised as he realized he would need to wrestle it away from his younger brother’s grip. Manny looked up with grief-stricken murder glowing in his eyes, a frightening gaze directed at Victor. Victor paused, looking over toward Sigmund.
“Please—”
As the shift began, Victor ripped the baton free and began to swing it down. He was barely aware of his surroundings when he returned from the fire. To him, there was no cell. There was no Sigmund. There was no Manny. There was only the ocean of anguish waiting for him should he stop.
Eventually, Victor’s muscles gave out and he slumped to the blood-soaked floor, weeping as Sigmund approached.
“Very good, my son,” Sigmund said as Mahiri helped Victor up. “Y
ou did well. Now I want to show you something. You see that?” Sigmund pointed to a new drone that hovered above. It was smaller—the size of a volleyball—and hovered motionlessly via six rotating blades. “That little guy is called an IRD. That’s short for Injection and Regulation Drone. It will follow you day or night and should you ever wish to take your own life or the life of anyone in this room, the drone’s artificial intelligence will recognize it and activate your fiery netherworld. Do you understand?”
Victor cried, weeping as he gazed down at his dead brother.
“Answer me!” Sigmund roared.
“Yes, sir,” Victor said, shame and fatigue washing over him.
“Good,” Sigmund said, the anger on his face shifting back to amusement. “What sins you may have committed against us are now forgiven and forgotten. You are now a Recruit in the Patriarchal Armies. What I command, you must do. I will not be lenient on this, but I will be generous and reward your service. Now, please take this time and feel free to express your gratitude for this new chance at life.”
“Thank you,” Victor said, surprised that he had actually thanked the man. However, it felt right to thank Sigmund. It nearly felt as though he had done Victor a favor in giving him a chance to escape eternal torment, even if it had cost Manny his life.
Victor shuddered at that thought.
“As I said,” Sigmund began, rising and turning to the tall African man. “Loyal to me and me alone. And as you promised…his head within months.”
“Yes, Sigmund,” Mahiri replied slowly with the nod of his head. “I believe you have created the perfect war machine. I look forward to watching it upon the field of battle.”
“Good,” Sigmund said. “If we lack the drones, then we will use an ever growing horde of men and women, ready to die if it means avoiding the fire. Now go to the larger cities nearby and convert all that you can. The Brazilian has assured me the supply of IRDs and injection serum will continue to flow so long as his lab remains hidden. In the meantime, I want these new Recruits mobilized and marching for the Imperium’s borders.”
“And where do we march first?” Mahiri asked.
“Go northeast,” Sigmund replied. “We will begin by taking Montgomery. From there, we will hit Birmingham and Atlanta, then Charlotte and Charleston, moving northeast until we take DC. By the time we are at Lukas’ doorstep, we will have a mob of one million savages ready to fight to the death with pitchforks if need be.” Sigmund turned back to Victor, smiling as he did so. “Take this one with you to Montgomery. If he was Special Forces, then he should know a thing or two about waging war. I want him to be an example for others to rally behind.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Mahiri replied.
“Good,” Sigmund said, turning to Victor. “Victor, my friend, your brother is dead. I do not know if you had other kin, but I want you to consider them dead as well. The Patriarchs are your family now. Would you be willing to do me the honor of leading my Recruits on the ground? I cannot promise you life, but I can promise you life outside the fire so long as you serve me well.”
“I will do whatever you ask,” Victor said, his heart sinking as he realized how true his words were.
“Then you will begin to train so that you may soon guide my new Recruits into battle. When that day comes, you will lead them with an unfailing courage. You fought bravely in the streets and even more so in this room. Let no man question your loyalty. I say let the first convert be the first testimony to the masses.”
Victor Castle nodded his head as Sigmund, the woman, and Mahiri left the room. Others came into the room—helping Victor up before taking him to a nearby apartment where he was cleaned, fed, and left to himself with only his little drone and his ever-growing thoughts for revenge to keep him company.
Stay strong, Victor, he thought as he lay awake, crying alone in his room. They will falter. They will fail. One day…you will know peace again.
One day, you will have your revenge.
Chapter Seven
A Symbolic Destruction
Lukas Chambers fingered a scar on the back of his hand irritably as he sat quietly in the White House control room, waiting patiently for the final attendees to arrive. It had been twenty-four days since the Battle of DC where he had cut his hand on a piece of shattered glass as his men had hastily escorted him from the Capitol Building. The two inch wound had not been particularly deep or painful, requiring only seven butterfly stitches to seal. Still, the scab had lingered and itched for the past three and a half weeks, seizing more and more of Lukas’ attention as he wondered why the healing nanobots that the Brazilian had injected into him years ago were failing to mend the damage.
“What are you so preoccupied with?” Jacob Brekor asked, his projection standing off to the right.
Lukas glanced up and frowned, rubbing his thumb over the injury once more. “My hand. I cut it in the Capitol Building during the battle and it’s not healing as fast as I had expected.”
“You think it’s infected?” Sandra Bowie asked. “If so, you should—”
“It’s not infected,” Lukas cut in. “I’ve had a physician look at it twice. He said it’s healing as fast as a human body should be able to heal.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Sandra asked.
“I…well, I guess nothing,” Lukas replied, unwilling to discuss his concern further. So very few knew about the life-giving nanobots the Patriarchs had created years ago. They had invigorated him and all other Patriarchs, causing them to heal much quicker and regulate the effects of aging. He wasn’t ready to disclose his fountain of youth to those around him until he secured the Brazilian for himself. In time, they too might be given the same life-giving injection. For the Imperium, only Maria, Jacob, and Lukas knew of its secrets, and he saw no point in giving them away just yet.
“How much longer must we wait?” Geoffrey Poteau asked, leaning back in his chair and stifling a yawn. As though to answer his question, the door at the far end of the room opened, followed by General Kane and a contingent of new faces.
“Forgive us for keeping you so long,” General Kane replied.
“There is no need for forgiveness,” Lukas replied, observing the newcomers. There were six new faces altogether, just as Lukas had requested. “Please begin. I would hate to miss the fireworks scheduled for this evening.”
“As would we all,” General Kane replied, motioning to his left. “Mr. Anniston, would you care to initiate the presentation?”
Warren nodded his head and guided his hands about the air in front of him. The lights overhead dimmed and the image of a golden Imperium Seal quickly filled Lukas’ vision, gradually rotating in the center of the room. General Kane stepped forward and hesitated a moment, staring at the seal as he slowly encircled it.
“I feel I should begin by conveying a humble gratitude for what you have placed in my charge. For years I wondered if mankind would ever know true peace. I will not lie and pretend there are not many career soldiers like me who wish to fight for other reasons than peace. If history has a common denominator, it is war. As such, men like me are products designed for that reason. For many soldiers, home can only be found on a distant battlefield. But the fleeting dream of peace…that is a dream worth fighting for. It is what I hope to achieve with your new Imperium Army. You asked me to forge a weapon great enough to build your kingdom. I stand here today believing that weapon has begun to take shape.”
Lukas’ eyes widened as the Imperium Seal shifted—rotating as it rose in the air toward the ceiling. As it stopped, three golden lines branched off from the bottom of the seal. They grew to form three new unique emblems—one was a shield, another a hammer, and the third a spear. They too had additional lines slowly branching away, creating more emblems and offshoots that reached for the ground.
“Your tree of life,” General Kane said, pointing to the Imperium’s seal at the top. “And it all begins with you, my Sovereign.”
“Impressive, General Kane,” Lukas repl
ied with a grin.
“General Kane no longer,” Eli replied. “Though we will get to that shortly. For now, let us explain the reorganization of the Imperium’s military. You might wonder why a man who desires peace with all his heart wishes to create the most disciplined, fast-reacting military known to man. I say for peace to be achieved, we must create the mightiest of swords—a blade to break all other blades.”
“Well put,” Jacob replied.
“Well put indeed,” Lukas said with a smile.
“As I said, all things begin with you. As the Sovereign, you must be our alpha and omega. If history has taught us anything about the art of war, it is that wars fail for lack of conviction. If I am to implore you to do anything outside of leading this war machine, it would be to make the people fall in love with you. Let you be their conviction. Let you be the idol to rally behind. If you can continue to do that, I believe this military will win you the world.”
Lukas nodded his head, pleased with the flattery.
“I’ve created three military branches from which everything operates,” Kane said, using his hands to shift the golden network and focus on the first three emblems. “The first is the Imperium Guard. It is the shield that will meet those who wish to besiege what we have established. We’ve broken it up into four categories. The largest branch, the Border Guard, is being created to defend our outmost borders. In time, I hope to dissolve this guard…as I hope this Imperium grows to become borderless.”
“A dream we all dare to dream,” Lukas said. “May we never fail.”
“Agreed,” Kane replied with the nod of his head. “From there we have the Sector Guard. It will protect large sectors—such as the northeast or gulf region once you’ve won it. After that, there is the Civic Guard. It will be established to work directly with the Sector Guard, defending cities and bases. Finally, there is the Sovereign Guard. It is created to protect that which matters most. You.”